Project S632
by mysticLegend11
Summary: Hanari Lain is Seto Kaiba's new assistant director, but as he strives towards divulging her every secret, he grows increasingly fascinated and obsessed. Then, all plans go astray due to a complication no one had foreseen: Noah. -NoahxOC, SetoxOC-
1. Stimulus

**Project S632  
01: _Stimulus_**

Kaiba's deep-set glacial eyes narrowed. Never in her life would she forget that glare of cold intelligence. It stripped its victim of all defenses until only the bare facts remained. His gaze glinted with omniscient intimidation, but Hanari Lain refused to relinquish her composure.

"You called me, Mr. Kaiba?" Lain lifted the frame of her rimless spectacles.

"Has any thought of _why_ occurred to you?" Kaiba's head rested on the backs of his hands as he leaned over on his embellished CEO desk. His eyes were ravenous to devour the secrets she hoarded behind her gray-green eyes.

"I assumed that you would be addressing that issue in this meeting." Her hardened gaze never left his. A glint of amusement appeared in his eyes.

"Very well. Take a seat." Kaiba turned his back as he faced the three huge flat screen monitors, his fingers flashing over the keyboard faster than she believed humanly possible. Gingerly, she sat down. Her legs were crossed, her hands folded in her lap.

As clicks and beeps pervaded the computer, she waited patiently with a straight back and raised chin. Awkward minutes passed, and neither of them seemed to acknowledge each other's presence. With every passing second, the gravity of the atmosphere languished further. It was an old trick for intimidation, leaving the prey second-guessing with doubt.

Lain checked her watch. Eight minutes had passed where neither of them had spoken a word. The air sagged with a stirred animosity, an unspoken challenge. She was a busy professional with no time to play mind games with the multi-billionaire. Sitting there idly, before the CEO of Kaiba Corp who was consciously ignoring her existence, was not a task that fitted into her hectic schedule.

"If there are no pressing issues you must address now, I will take my leave." Stiffly, she rose to stand on her high black heels.

"I told you to take a seat. I did not give you permission to stand up," Kaiba interposed. He pressed one last button and swerved his chair to face her.

"Ah, I apologize. I suppose I now need your consent to scratch my head?" Her impatience showed through an annoyed tug at her lips.

"Your sarcasm is not appreciated. When I order you to take a seat, you take a seat. When I ask you a question, you respond, no questions returned. When I command you not to breathe, your lungs stop inhaling. This is my company, and I run it my way. Frankly, if you disagree, you're welcome to go knock on the door of a neighboring industrial company." It took all of her discipline not to fluster. She was not particularly in the habit of becoming a verbal punching bag. "Looking through your proposal, your decision to swap the first two packet graphics is quite... amusing."

She blinked in realization. "If this discussion is about the new software Proxy, as assistant director, I have the right to take appropriate liberties to the preliminary blueprints," she said hotheadedly.

"Ah, but Miss Hanari, I think your pathetic justification is a bit of an understatement. You do not have the right to contradict my explicit instructions. If I didn't know better, I would have suspected that you were challenging my authority." His lips twisted victoriously. He leaned over, making their faces precariously close. Up close, she was irresistibly pulled to notice how attractive his features were: a strong jaw, loose brown bangs, a comfortable smirk. Lain grimaced in disgust at his smugness. She resisted the urge to smack him senseless.

Kaiba leaned back in his chair, setting his polished shoes on his desk. "But seeing us here, I think we both know better, hm?"

Lain inhaled and exhaled sharply. "Perhaps."

"You may take your leave now. I was taught to keep my friends close and my enemies closer. Let's just hope you'll stay as the former, not the latter," he dismissed flippantly. Restraining the fury consuming her insides, she clicked her heels as she abruptly turned.

"One more thing," Kaiba added casually. She stopped in mid-step in response. "I look forward to working with you, Miss Hanari."

Her face showed no visible response. "Likewise, Mr. Kaiba. Enjoy your afternoon."

An ocean of numbers reflected in Kaiba's pupils. He left the computation to his worthless accountants, but he trusted no one but himself when it came to double and triple checking. A company, he supposed, was eerily equivalent to a number. Seto Kaiba, the reigning CEO of Kaiba Corp, was the very first digit who controlled all the other digits. If the number shifted, the first digit was conscious of every variable, every distraction, every alteration. Yet, something internal was causing his perfect equation to falter. A single digit was subtly disrupting the premeditated flow, but Kaiba knew who that was: Hanari Lain.

There was something about her demeanor that piqued his curiosity. Perhaps it was her impassive veneer hiding an array of tantalizing secrets. With her diligent product before his eyes, he was equally impressed and perturbed. Behind those rimless spectacles lay a mind of ambition and talent. Yet he also detected traces of rebellious intent and thirst for independent control. Perhaps the irritation in his chest was due to the possibility that he saw hints of his own identity in her. She intrigued him—why would someone with an overqualified résumé accept a position lower than her previous vocation? She must be the puppeteer drawing strings with ease from the shadows. Her boss, the director, was a lackey with brawns and no brains. It was impossible that the director, or either of the two other assistant directors, crafted this meticulous program. Ever since her arrival, there had been an unanticipated boost in autonomous thought among his employees. That in itself was a blessing, perhaps, but evidence that employees were deliberately tweaking his plans was most certainly not desired.

After their confrontation, Kaiba was left without doubts. He would have to cut this miniature revolution short. Hanari may have believed that she could camouflage herself in a lower position of prestige, but she had underestimated him.

After finishing the document, Kaiba nodded smugly. This finished product was certainly a carefully crafted masterpiece of art with a very embellished personal touch. Perhaps it was worth having minds that could think without direct supervision.

His gut told him that there was something more to the blue-haired Hanari Lain than met the surface. Something important had slipped through his fingers, but not for long. He was going to crack the puzzle slowly, savoring each piece until there was nothing left to expose. After all, Seto Kaiba never backed down from a challenge.

"Perhaps I should give her a promotion."

* * *

"93HDMW."

"81DUVGS."

"20ASUBP."

"Project S632 is commencing. All information transmitted currently through the communication devices must be secured. No possible witnesses can remain—biological or mechanical."

"Are all of these precautions really necessary?"

"Absolutely. There is no such thing as being too prudent. Through these state-of-the-art radio transceivers disguised as ordinary headphones, our conversations cannot be tracked or bugged. Safeguard these in secure locations where not a single other being can obtain, be it man, monkey or machine."

"We've already been through this lecture. Just cut to the chase. How is Plan A proceeding?"

"The virus has exceeded my expectations. I am currently hacking into the mainframe supercomputer."

"That brat Kaiba didn't discover the virus in your recent Proxy project?"

"Affirmative, although he is not completely unaware."

"What do you mean by 'unaware'?"

"It is nothing to be concerned about. I will not defy his orders again, and I will do my best to gain back his trust. I suggest you two follow suit."

"Hmph, I think I've heard enough demands from that silver tongue of yours, woman."

"Oh? This silver tongue is going to lead the three of our names down every computer science—perhaps even history—textbook on the surface of this earth. The three of us are going to be eyewitnesses to one of the most eminent milestones in human technology."

"I could care less about textbooks. I just want the crisp clean cash in my fingers."

"All in good time. Procedure two will now initiate. Remember, according to the gods above, this conversation never occurred. Project S632 does not exist. Over and out, gentlemen."

**_Beeee—eee—eepppp._**

"Do you really believe that slick woman can pull this off?"

"It's worth the gamble."

"I'm sick of her orders. After we capture the new technology once our plan succeeds, how are we going to get rid of her?"

"Blackmail maybe? That's always delicious. Hell, you're over-thinking this. If it comes down to it, she's a _woman_ for goodness' sakes. Didn't you take weight training in high school?"

"Don't remind me. So we follow her little plans for now and once the cash is within our sight, we dispose of her, _aniki_?"

"Given her plan succeeds. If it doesn't... well, I'm sure someone would be quite delighted to be enlightened of her plan."

"You're going to blow this to Kaiba if she fails? How do you know she won't get us involved as well?"

"Just trust me. If she does succeed, we could choose any body we want. Our previous deeds will be washed into a clean slate. Either way, I wouldn't be any other person on earth, not even Kaiba-brat himself."

"Mm, inside the body of a cute swimsuit babe..."

"This is why I'm not proud to be seen with you around public."

"Excuse me?"

"Over and out."

* * *

Hanari's first name, Lain, is a reference and tribute to _Serial Experiments Lain_, a seinen anime that inspired and nurtured the creation of this fic.

I'm probably the most ecstatic person out there about this story, because even though readers and reviews are most encouraging gifts an author can receive, I'm ebullient about how this story will turn out. The first chapter turned out better than I had hoped, and I most certainly finish this story during summer vacation. In every respect, this story is a complete contrast to my last fic, _Monster_, a Prince of Tennis story. I'm well aware that my protagonist, Lain, is a fat, glaring Sue. Then again, so are half of the bishonen out there.

However, if you're willing to concede to that fact (like I have) then welcome to the implausible, the angsty, the cheesy, and everything in between, in this virtual experience called _Project S632. _

Also, a round of applause for my beta readers Stormrose Dewleaf and Oswaft.

A picture of Hanari Lain is posted on my homepage. Please do check it out, because I spent an hour on Deviant Art searching for this one picture.


	2. Absence

**02: _Absence_**

The pervasive stench of antiseptic suffocated Lain's lungs. The steadfast metronome of the electrocardiogram undercut the muffled cacophony beyond the door: a microcosm of rushing paramedics and anxious faces. In a strangely empathetic bond, she understood every spectrum of emotion experienced by the individuals inside this structure of steel and concrete, a portal between two discrete dimensions: the living and the dead. Seeing the patient next to her, who had been immersed in a stupefied coma for the past two months, she decided that perhaps the line was indistinct after all.

To Lain, this building was the epicenter of her fear. Her father's chest heaved up and down, in synchronization of his sharp inhalations and exhalations and the plastic transparent breathing mask, which half-fogged and cleared.

Although he was immersed in a drug-induced stupor, the wrinkles appeared more pronounced than she remembered. His muscles were tense in expectation of pain. Her father was apathetic about his condition ever since her parents had divorced. Lain only remembered the faintest of memories about her mother: a daisy-patterned camise, a penchant for gaudy jewelry, broken shards of vodka glass. She didn't recall a single time her mother had embraced her or played with her, and the single time they held hands, she only remembered the detached coldness of her mother's fingers. Her mother's debaucherous lifestyle had cost more than her parents' marriage, but a portion of her father's heart.

She remembered the thick smog lingering in the morning air, caused by her father's chain-smoking. Despite her memory being littered by his brief spouts of depression, her love for her father was remarkable. They shared an empathetic bond closer than father and daughter. They cared for each other mutually, but they were both fiercely independent individuals, and they both respected their privacy. In a sense, Lain's childhood had been skipped. Even as a child, her eyes glowed with a reserved, precocious cognizance that most adults did not possess. In return, her father never treated her like a child. A pupil, perhaps, but never a child.

Now she was the caretaker, and the task shook her to her very core.

Ironically, seeing him in his trance-like state, she knew that she was suffering more than he was from his pain. She endured a psychological haunting that was deeper than any corporeal damage.

"Lain..." he gasped, his croaking voice no more audible than a whisper. She jolted awake. "Take off my mask."

"You're insane." He proceeded to do so himself, and Lain had no choice but to consent. As she lifted his breathing mask, she couldn't help but notice the fatigued surrender in his dark eyes and the translucent tubes inserted in his nose.

"M-medication," he croaked. "Bag... in the right corner."

Lain wrinkled her eyebrows in hesitation. "The nurses should... If you need morphine, I'll call them—"

"Don't bother." Something felt wrong. There came a resolute silence. His labored heaving reminded her of Darth Vader or a firefighter with an oxygen mask, only each breath was chalked with struggle. Every heartbeat was a countdown.

"I know... you're not denying the last wish from an old man on his deathbed." A lump forming in her throat, she approached the bag in the corner. Her fingers fumbled when she found the tablets in the left pocket. The moment her eyes set on them, they slipped through her paralyzed fingers. Hastily, she picked them up and before she knew she what was doing, she had already inserted the tablet into his mouth.

"This world we live in... has surpassed physical boundaries." Yet here he was, so addicted to corporeal attachments that... that he didn't even regret his decisions that brought him to his deathbed amid the euphoria in his hallucinations.

"That wasn't medication, was it?" she whispered in realization. She stared into space, her eyes avoiding the inscribed _Lucy _on the colorful tablets. "These are... hallucinogens. Is it LSD? Psilocytin? Mescaline?" Her only answer was his arduous breathing. Her eyes were glossy with incredulity.

He made a strange clicking noise with his throat. "Viruses are particles with coded DNA. Outside of a living host, they are dead. Inside another living being, they infect, destroy and spread, programmed for survival." This was her father, all right, feeding her biological lectures on his deathbed instead of heartfelt clichés about life regrets and accomplishments.

"Words are categorizations of the limitations humans have placed upon themselves. Alive? Dead? Right? Wrong? Justice? Inequality? Virtual? Tangible? Perspective? Reality? We live in an era where the delineations of society are unraveling. Is the virtual dimension of technology so disconnected from our own?"

Her eyes glossy, Lain could no longer contain the sickening disgust in her chest. "Spare me the shit. I wish you gave a fuck about the fact that you're dying."

"I can see it in your eyes. You're a smart child, Lain. I knew it from the first time I saw your face."

"Good night, father." The door slammed.

* * *

Three years later, Lain crouched before the retinal scan. She did not flinch when a thin red laser scanned her gray iris. A light flashed green and a large keypad was revealed. The password was so familiar to her fingers that everything became one fluid motion. _93HDMW. _All the security measures were expensive, but they occupied nothing but a miniscule portion of the project budget.

"Identity confirmed. Please proceed with caution."

A camouflaged door snapped open, revealing a corridor bathed in a gentle cerulean light from motion-sensored fluorescent lights. The clicks from her heels echoed in the metal-reinforced walls, and halted as she approached an ordinary high-tech luxury room: a flatscreen plasma television, automatic massage sofas, an electronic slideshow, a disguised electronic aquarium, and a personal PC. On first glance, it appeared like a typical personal computer, and it _was_. Hers.

Before the dazzling array of electronic clownfish, stargrass, seahorses, even rays, Lain was not in the least impressed. There were so many glitches to the program that she had invented when she was a bored child. The plants never grew another millimeter. Tropical and freshwater fish lived harmoniously. Rays of artificial light penetrated the water at all the same angles. Despite its obvious flaws, her father was so proud of her pixilated project that he took her to the national aquarium the day after she finished. _Her father._

She pressed her forefinger on the crawling snail, her middle finger on a white pebble, her ring finger on a strand of seaweed, and her pinky on green algae. After holding her fingers there for five seconds, the aquarium disappeared, the panels now black and empty. Two doors slid open, revealing the faces of two very disgruntled friends.

"Gentlemen," she addressed with open hands.

"We've been waiting for you for an hour," one of the Matsumoto brothers hissed through his teeth.

"Forgive me." Her tone was not apologetic in the least. She stepped through the doors before they closed. Before her was the marvelous sight of two years of hard work. The metal supercomputer before her was more massive than most, a suspended sphere with an entangled mass of wires connecting it to five monitors. A mechanical cacophony of beeps and clicks welcomed her entrance. For Lain, this was home.

"How is Patient 07 proceeding?" She sank into a chair next to one of the massive monitors.

"Involuntarily enrolled in the psyche ward of Domino Hospital. Diagnosed for schizophrenia."

"Patient 09?"

"Escaped from his residential apartment four days ago. Presumed dead once quite an amount of blood was found near a bar."

She gave a soft but audible sigh. "This won't do. Let me see the data collected on them." After her eyes skimmed the waves of information, she removed her glasses, closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. Project S632 was falling apart even though Plan A had only begun a few months prior.

_This world we live in... has surpassed physical boundaries._

She understood her father's words now. A wealth of information was now present in a virtual dimension parallel to our own. In a sense, it had become alive. Technology had reached a potential where tangible reality could never compare, much less surpass.

_Viruses are particles with coded DNA. Outside of a living host, they are dead. Inside another living being, they infect, destroy and spread, programmed for survival._

Her initial interpretation had been quite literal: play dirty. Use virtual viruses. Then she realized the real message: the line between life and death had never been distinct. If that was true, the possibilities were endless.

_We live in an era where the delineations of society are unraveling. Is the virtual dimension of technology so disconnected from our own?_

Then she understood. The evolution of humankind. The ultimate sacrifice. The key to immortality. In the beginning, she would only take baby steps. She could spare selected humans from the chains of a transient existence by digitizing their minds. Her first patient was her father's mind. Before his release from his miserable suffering, she had attached her father's mind to the supercomputer. Every one of his memories became a file. Every nuance of his personality was recorded. His neural synapses were now electrical signals.

Then she hit a roadblock. She lacked the space and the skill to solidify all the data. For now, his immeasurable data stayed only as incomprehensible data. She could not even reconstruct the tiniest trace of his identity as a hologram or image. The original plan had to be breached. An alternative was compulsory. He needed a perfect host, a new body. The transfer was what bothered her. If a single variable went wrong, her father's data could be destroyed, harmed, or deemed unusable. If the original host struggled against the invasion of the new identity, results may be catastrophic. However, she would afford no mistakes.

Guinea pigs and careful experimentation was essential. After days, weeks and months of analyzing her father's data, she imitated her father's memories from her own programs. Technically speaking, she was able to construct artificial memories. However, they were nothing but numbers and figures outside of a living host. Inside a living human already with its own experiences and memories, these false creations were parasitic. _Viruses_. Tweaking this program, she gathered three guinea pigs, wasted hoodlums fated for a miserable life. The first two suffered from extreme confusion, even leading to an identity crisis or amnesia. However, the third was more or less successful. After being released from an asylum for reporting conflicting memories, the virus eventually prevailed. A clean childhood, dutiful parents, and a professional occupation replaced the individual's original memories of bullying, drugs and violence.

The ability to delete and recreate memories... the possibilities were endless. An autocratic government with absolute control over the people. If her inventions were discovered, the world may collapse into chaos. That was why it was imperative Project S632 remained top-classified.

Next came something even more difficult: the manipulation of one's personality. This outcome was an indistinct mix of different variables: genes, environment, parenting, personal choices, etc. She gathered six more patients, all with a careful history of violence, drugs and sex. The virus was intended to make them more subservient towards the law. The results, schizophrenia and death, were not expected.

There were possibilities of how the virus could be destroyed and their original memories and personalities restored. For that to occur, however, they needed to attain the original hosts and link them to the supercomputer. It was a precautionary step used for Patient 05, who experienced seizures during a coma during the transfer.

Lucky Patient 03 had benefited from the experiment. The others... She decided that casualties were necessary. The guinea pigs should be honored that they were cornerstones to a deciding factor in humankind's fate. Besides, they would have succumbed to lives of meaninglessness anyhow.

She looked through her meticulously crafted program again. There were no errors. It was perfect. She could not comprehend in the least why this was not succeeding. Perhaps there was a variable she had not consid—

"Hanari, I just discovered something in Kaiba's system that you may find interesting."

She snapped, "What?" She did not appreciate her train of thoughts being interrupted so abruptly.

"I think that... Gozaburo Kaiba had his mind digitized when Seto Kaiba usurped his control."

"Impossible. Then why isn't he the ruler of the world?"

"Seto Kaiba foiled his plan. Actually, this little kid named Noah did."

"Noah?" The name seemed oddly familiar.

"Noah Kaiba. Gozaburo's real son, who died when he was ten in a freak accident. Gozaburo saved Noah's mind in a digital reality."

"Interesting."

There was an awkward hesitation. "Perhaps we can ask Seto Kai—"

Lain swerved her chair around and glared at the plump Matsumoto straight in the eye threateningly. "Don't you dare consider it. Revealing our project after we've hijacked his system is completely out of the question. This is the end of the discussion, do you understand me?" The younger brother shriveled under her hard glare and consented gingerly.

"Perhaps our patients do not have a strong enough will to survive. Maybe they suffer from emotional distress, and stronger guinea pigs are needed."

"What are you saying, Hanari?" From the pressure on her chest, the gravity of this project almost seemed physical. For a moment, she had doubts. What if she failed? What if the millions and millions that had been poured into this project had gone completely to waste? What if she made a single, irreversible mistake? Humans had been bound to their palpable lives of mortality since the eve of time. What gave her, Hanari Lain, the right to transform that?

But she brushed away the endless negative possibilities, leaving only her resolute will behind. She remembered her father's approving smile, his rough voice, and his absolute confidence in his daughter.

"Use _me_."

* * *

I think I'm going to tone down the vocabulary from here, in case it's interfering with the interpretation of the story. I hope it's not too fast-paced, and I'm hoping to include more of Lain's flaws from here on out.

Reviews will be more than adored, encouraging or not. If anyone has any good YGO fics to recommend, feel free to do so.


	3. Bonds

_Dedicated to Joyce, my first real reviewer. Oh, you make me weep._

**03: **_**Bonds**_

Toshio, the younger and skinnier brother, chuckled nervously, but the tense, heavy atmosphere remained unchanged. "Who knew Hanari-san had a sense of humor?" His laughing ceased when Lain gave him a glare that was anything but humorous. "Support me, neh Nobu?"

"U-u-uh," the older brother stuttered, trapped between anvil and hammer.

"I'm serious about this." Her voice and eyes contained a hardened edge. "Use me as Patient 10. I've been weighing my options for a considerable amount of time. I want to experience firsthand why my program is failing. No one else will do." Her resilient gaze did not falter before the two gaping jaws and incredulous stares. After an intense moment of staring, Nobu's unnerved gaze flickered down.

The squatter brother leaned towards Toshio. "What is she smoking?"

"Amphetamines, maybe?"

"Oooh, fancy," Nobu retorted, his tone heavy with sarcasm. "I was thinking more like crack coca—"

"There is nothing wrong with me." Her tone was flat, betraying her irration. "I am most certainly not abusing drugs." Hanari resisted the temptation of rolling her eyes from the inanity of their conversation.

"Poor girl doesn't know how to take a joke," Nobu sighed sympathetically.

"I most certainly do know how to take a joke, but now is not the time." Lain was almost seething from her teeth.

"You want to bet on that? Let's give you two weeks. If you can make a decent crack at a joke in two weeks, I'll consider your absurd suggestion." Toshio flashed a smile that was all teeth and in no way reassuring.

"No!" Lain slammed her fist on the control panel, making Nobu flinch. "Two weeks? I don't have time for this. We need to perform the transfer _now_."

The brothers gawked at each other with even more incredulity than before, if that was even possible. The consensus was official: Lain Hanari had lost her mind.

"_Now?_" Toshio repeated, rolling the word slowly on his tongue like as if finding a cure for cancer was more plausible.

"History has only praised a handful of individuals from the rest of the failures. Some commendable sacrifice or risk is an inevitable by-product of every great accomplishment," Hanari explained.

"Oh great, another one of these lectures," Nobu mumbled under his breath.

"Just ignore her," Toshio dismissed and swerved his chair to face the monitor. In disbelief, Hanari strode to one of the control panels on the wall and broke the electricity feed to the monitors. The screens flickered and went black. Before Nobu or Toshio could react, she swerved their chairs to meet her dead-serious expression.

"I was not done talking to you." Her gray eyes displayed such a level of indefinable obsession that Toshio was temporarily paralyzed by their intensity. Perseverance, skill and poise shone through her fully dilated pupils. No indication of the slightest fearful inhibition, no glimmer of hesitation, no trace of recognizable sanity.

A chill prickled up Toshio's spine. For the first time, he realized the latent danger this woman presented.

Toshio rose to his feet. He tried his sincere best to discover any spark of rationality that hadn't been overridden by her fixation. Although Nobu offered comments of aid, Toshio cut his brother off. He argued about the side effects: mental instability, amnesia, schizophrenia, coma and even death. None of it brushed her. She snaked through all the risks with her silver tongue. Passion bordering on madness, Hanari fought until Toshio was driven into a corner, physically and mentally.

The argument was over.

Nobu and Toshio proceeded to begin experimentation on Patient 10. As they booted up the systems, Hanari lay down on the first of three open pods. The pods were gangly and gaudy, and the hard, cold metal seats were no more flamboyant. They were not made for luxury. They worked, and that was all that mattered. She fastened the metal headgear that connected her cerebrum to the supercomputer. Metal restraints were secured around her neck, wrists and ankles for safety reasons.

"Anesthesia is being administered." Hanari felt a prick on her arm, but it soon faded away to numbness. A wave of tingling passed from her scalp to her toes, and through her effusion of emotions, she couldn't quite decipher why. Through the eerie sensation of an estranged heartbeat, perhaps it was anxiety or perhaps it was zeal.

Either way, even if some discretion had won through her façade of conviction, it was too late. Before her consciousness succumbed to nothingness, she vaguely registered the puzzling euphony of a moonlight sonata, its harmony and cadence rolling into the folds of phenomenon and reverie...

* * *

"Caution, transfer is fifty-five percent complete." The computer's voice, the high monotonous pitch of a woman's, pierced through Toshio's distressed mind. He inhaled a deeply from the edge of the cigarette, then exhaled with a trail of intangible gray smoke. Hanari prohibited him from touching anything tobacco-related inside these quarters, but now in her trance-like coma, she was in no position to demand anything.

"Toshio, if Hanari discovers that you're smoking..." Nobu trailed off, shaking his head. Although the younger brother may think he's the mastermind of the two, Toshio still made choices Nobu would never understand.

"Hanari doesn't have to discover anything." Toshio's fidgeting had eased. The sedative was taking effect. Something in his gut, an uncanny unease, was telling him that he was making a mistake. An irreversible, dreadful mistake. Without Hanari's technical prowess, Project S632 would cease. She could become someone dangerous, someone unrecognizable. It would have been easier to dump all the funding into the Sea of Japan.

He should never have agreed to this conspiracy in the first place. Everything was going wrong, and it was now up to Toshio Matsumoto, and Toshio alone to draw the line. It was not too late. He could reverse the transfer so far, and even though he might receive some massive headaches the following days from Hanari's outrage, nothing was worth the risk of their livelihoods and well-beings.

He flattened the other end of his cigarette on an ashtray. "Caution, transfer is fifty-seven percent complete." Toshio's fist hovered above the key that terminated the experiment. Instinct screamed at him to press the button.

"Toshio, what are you doing?" Nobu finally noticed Toshio's finger on the key. "Hey—"

It was now or never. He pressed it. It clicked, and a message appeared on the screen.

"Are you sure you wish to abort the transfer?"

Nobu was sweating profusely. "Toshio, have gone insane too?"

Toshio chose the affirmative option, but it was too early to be relieved yet. The reverse process must initiate as well.

"Command overrided. Caution, transfer is fifty-eight percent complete." Toshio blinked in astonishment. The computer had rejected his command?

"Nobu, what are you doing to stop me?"

"I'm not doing anything!" Nobu exclaimed in outrage. "What the hell are _you_ doing?" Deep wrinkles forming between his brows, Toshio attempted advanced controls to terminate the program.

"Commands rejected. Caution, control panels closing." To Toshio's shock, black panels quickly covered the control keys, cutting off all access to control of the experiment.

"Toshio, what are you—"

"It's not me." Toshio ransacked his mind for the faintest clue as to what was going on. "It's not me."

"Then who could it be?" Desperate seconds passed.

"Hanari? Maybe she knew I was going to back out halfway through and rejected any possibility of reversing its effects?" Yes, that reason sounded the most logical to Toshio's ears.

"I don't think so," Nobu mused pensively. "What if something did go wrong, like with Patient 05? She would have trusted us with the task of reversing the experiment."

"Then what could it be? The supercomputer?"

"It's a goddamn machine. It's not programmed to reject orders from the human user. Quite the contrary." There was only one possibility left, and Toshio had been dreading it from the bottom of his heart.

"We've been hacked." For a moment, the room was eerily silent, as if it was attempting to register the revelation as well.

"That's impossible. We've got the latest, state-of-the-art security system," Nobu self-assured, his voice shaking.

"That's what Kaiba boy said too, and we hacked into his system, didn't we?"

"But why? Why is the hacker showing his face now?"

Toshio glanced at Hanari's pale, tranquil face. "Hanari," he whispered. "The hacker is screwing up her mind. That's why this transfer is taking so long."

"What do you mean 'screwing up her mind'?"

"It could be anything. He could be downloading anything into her mind. A new identity. A new past. Or perhaps he's doing a scan. A scanning of her memories and experiences. But if he's already hacked into our system, he has all the information he needs to duplicate Project S632 or convict us of all our crimes."

Their hearts seemed to freeze. Movement became sluggish, like they were underwater. The air was stifling, a trail of smoke lingering from the ashtray.

"Then what the hell is he doing with Hanari's mind?"

* * *

Once again, thanks to the flattering support of my beta readers Stormrose Dewleaf and Oswaft.


	4. Phantom

**04: _Phantom_**

Noah stroked the mane of the black thoroughbred. It glistened magnificently under the crisp morning sun. The black beauty chortled after the warm-up around the five-acre trail. The ten-year-old rider was no greenhorn trainer. The careful finesse of his precise movements and the vigilant control of the reins betrayed his air of arrogance and intelligence. His mind—or perhaps, _her_ mind—was stressed from the upcoming show jump competition in only two weeks.

Although the silent creature could not even feel the weight of the young master, he sensed the rider's tension as Noah snapped the reins towards the show jump course. The rider's mind strayed to his father's silent scowl of disapproval, which cut into his existence more deeply than any spoken words, and the million expectations awaiting him, all in preparation for the birthright of Kaiba Corporation.

Shunning the other social expectations he would soon have to face that afternoon, Noah focused on the task at hand. More than any other activity, the young Kaiba heir loved riding. It offered a spiritual, emotional and physical escape from the pressures placed upon him by his inheritance. Nothing could compare to the adrenaline of surpassing all the other trainers in those few decisive nanoseconds. Nothing could describe the harmonious union of steed and rider, integrated so inseparably by sheer will and ambition that corporeal limitations were deemed meaningless. The sacred pact between man and beast, master and animal, tamer and the tamed, was a perception Noah did not entirely grasp (perhaps he never would), but his understanding was phenomenal for someone of his age, and it was improving with every meal, every competition, and every moment.

The show jump course was a circular dirt track with various letter-shaped obstacles and fences. In this occasion, the size of the thoroughbred was a disadvantage due to the tightly packed combinations. Perhaps a lighter, more nimble horse would suit the purpose better, but increased flexibility and agility could indisputably be trained.

In particular, Noah was concerned about jump eight and nine. Boldness and power was his forte, ironically contradicting the rider's small size, but he lacked the scope and accuracy of more experienced riders. Judging stride was also a new roadblock that Noah was not familiar with from racing, but he had confidence in his horse that learning would become mutual.

That day, his show jumping instructor was away on temporary vacation, and when his mentor had requested a replacement aide, Noah dismissed the idea and assured that he would not drop dead without instruction for one morning. Of course, he grudgingly admitted, after glancing back at his constant chaperones of useless lackeys and nannies, that it did not mean he would be alone. With the sharp snap of the reins, he guided the bulky horse to the start of the course.

He did a deliberate first trial to test his current status. Although the first attempt was slow and awkward, Noah's brows were furrowed in concentration, grasping the importance of every nanosecond in a judgment of stride or precision of combination. In the end, he was relieved and delighted to realize that no refusals or running-outs had occurred, although six obstacles had been capsized and he had to decrease the time elapsed by at least half a minute. Like he had expected, jumps eight and nine would give him difficulty.

He focused on the precision needed to perform the triple combination, which his horse had the most difficulty with. With a whip of the reins, the horse charged and leaped over the bar. Noah snapped the reins in the other direction to face the next obstacle, a ramped oxer, where the further pole was higher than the first. Once again, Noah could feel the raw power and finesse of the mount when the hind legs bolted into the air. When the third and last obstacle caught the corner of Noah's eye, he worked furiously to turn.

In that split second, everything happened, but he registered nothing as a black nova engulfed his universe.

* * *

His consciousness hovered near the ceiling, looking down. He saw his young but crippled body: a glimpse of green hair, a dangling wrist attached to the blood transfusion and a translucent breathing mask before the frenzied mass of white lab coats, undoubtedly of doctors and EMTs and nurses. A cacophony of overlapping voices inundated the room.

"Fluid is congested in lungs. Beginning process to suction entry through throat."

"Brain is stable. The riding helmet prevented any damage."

"The first and second vertebrae have been shattered..."

Then the voices faded, like a static radio whose volume had been tuned down. The noise and commotion edged away, but not before seeing his father's silent scowl of disapproval, which cut into his existence more deeply than any spoken words.

The first thing Hanari perceived was a faint throbbing beneath her temples. It pulsed and faded, and then slammed into her like a tsunami. She bit her tongue to keep from screaming, but eventually the peak of the pain passed. Her chest was heaving and a layer of wet sweat covered her face.

She realized she was in bed, still fully dressed. She forced herself to sit up, albeit too quickly, as her head reeled in nausea and her vision hazed. A sudden, disgusting lurch in her stomach prompted herself to stumble towards the door in the corner. Her mouth was already filling up with sour vomit. She vaguely remembered pushing the door open and lodging her fingers onto the edge of the toilet.

She retched over and over, every time her body heaving with more effort. She regurgitated nothing but gastric juice, because her stomach was empty. How long had it been since the transfer started? Since it was completed?

She sank down next to the toilet, every muscle in her body dragged in fatigue. She wiped a trace of bile from the edge of her lip and forced her legs to carry her body up. Blindly, she grasped for the faucet, knocking over the toothbrush and soap bottle. She splashed the cold water onto her face repeatedly, trying futilely to cleanse herself from her revulsion. She rinsed her mouth, washing out the sour aftertaste.

Finally managing to calm herself, she inhaled and exhaled sharply, only to have her breath caught in her throat when she realized that the reflection in the water was not hers.

She raised her head to face the mirror. Her face was that of a handsome young boy's, but her features... her features were contorted in malicious smugness. Her heart paralyzed in shock, she touched her lips and felt them move.

"I am Noah Kaiba. This is my _raison d'être_."

* * *

_Raison d'être_: reason for existence.

So Noah Kaiba really became paralyzed from a car accident, based on canon. So I twisted the rules. Sue me. His injury, the disconnection of his spinal cord, was inspired and almost hugely reflected of Christopher Reeve's injury, so everything that occurred to Noah is actually plausible.


End file.
